Seven Times
by Kitty le Fay
Summary: In which Greg and Molly have sex seven times before their first date
1. The First Time

The first time is after the Christmas party.

To say that Greg is smitten with Molly would be the understatement of the millennium. He always knew she was uniquely pretty, but he was never quite sure just how fit until tonight. From the moment she takes her jacket off he has to remind himself that he's happily married until Sherlock's deduction on Carol's infidelity with Meg's P.E. teacher tells him otherwise. Molly must be suffering the worst of it, though. Being told your spouse had gone back to cheating was one thing, but being openly mocked for your feelings for an aromantic and sociopathic man-child genius is quite another.

"You always say such horrible things," she says, nearly choking on her rising tears. "Every time. Always. Always."

Of course, Sherlock apologizes and even kisses her cheek, but she probably knows that it was all she is ever going to get from him. Truth be told, Greg can't help but feel for poor Molly. She'd always been very shy and insecure, but he never really knew why.

Unable take more of the painful awkwardness, half the party leaves early and in a huff. Greg, being one of them, decides that the pub is the best way to go, but he is stopped in the hallway by the sound of soft sobs. Around the corner he finds a younger brunette on the stairs with her knees hugged to her chest, sniffling back tears.

"Molly?"

She gasps and turns to him for a short second before wiping away her tears. "Lestrade," she says, trying to hide her broken voice. "I didn't see you there. Sorry."

"S'okay," he says with a weak smile. "And it's Greg, by the way. We don't need to be so formal."

Molly nods and smiles back just as weakly, but she says nothing. Her smile falls quickly. Greg sits next to her and searches his pockets for a tissue.

"Thank you," she sniffs and wipes away her tears.

"You all right?" he asks.

"I will be."

"Don't listen to him, 'kay? Sherlock's a prick. He shouldn't have said any of that."

Molly stifles a cold laughter. Stating the obvious is clearly doing her no favours. "If it's any consolation," Greg continues. "I was really proud of you for standing up to him like that."

Molly's eyes light up. She looks almost like a child who'd received her first compliment from a parent or teacher. "Really?"

"Yeah! I would have punched him, personally, but then there were ladies present. Although, if you want me to next time I see him…"

Molly's laugh is real this time and it brings the first real smile of the evening to Greg's face. Determined to continue to make her smile, he offers her a drink. Her original plan was to head home, buy herself a bottle of cheap merlot to take home for herself over a box of chocolates and an old movie, but Greg insists. Maybe she could use a friend. She nods, takes the hand he offers and they're off to the nearest pub.

"I'm sorry about your wife," she says on the way and suddenly regrets it. She mentally curses herself for making the worst conversation-starter known to womankind. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He simply frowns and shrugs it off.

"S'all right," he says. "To be honest, I probably should have seen it coming. It's happened before and…well, you get used to the inevitable, I guess."

At the pub, Greg orders a pint of lager and Molly a glass of merlot. Neither of them care how drunk they're eventually going to get. Over a lost count of rounds, they enjoy learning more and more about each other by the glass. For example, it turns out that Greg is a keen cook, was quite the punk as a teenager, has a fifteen-year-old daughter named Meg and his biggest guilty pleasure is Depeche Mode. Molly, on the other hand, is an equally keen knitter, could easily spend her last pound on books, has a tabby named Toby and is a closet_ Saw _fan_._ She admires his passion and he her intellect.

Years from now, neither of them will know how it starts. Maybe it's when his hand is on her thigh or when she looks at him in the way she does, but soon they're kissing in the corner like randy teenagers at a party. Lips part, tongues touch and their hands are everywhere. When they finally remember that there are other people present and that they're in the corner table at the pub, they agree to take a cab to Molly's flat before paying their bill. They continue kissing fervently in the backseat of the taxi.

The door of her flat crashes open when they stumble inside, lips never separating. She nearly loses her balance while they strip each other of their coats until he has her pressed against the wall. She's crushed against him and feels him stiffen. His large hand cups her breasts as he kisses her neck.

"What the hell are we doing?" she asks in mid-bliss.

"I don't know," Greg pants between kisses. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. Do you?"

"God no."

"Good."

He kisses her again, hard and hungry for her. Molly wraps her arms tightly around his neck and gasps when she suddenly feels his hand between her legs. She thrusts involuntarily against it and lifts a leg to wrap around him. She's already moaning. Momentarily, he moves his hand. Molly groans in protest until she feels his warm hand move beneath her pants. She's already wet when his fingers enter her and he uses his thumb to make quick circles on her clit. Greg watches her expression as though in fascination, savouring every sound she makes. It's only now that he realizes just how gorgeous she is when she's aroused and it just does things to him that his touch is doing this to her.

"Kiss my neck," she commands. He obeys.

"Grab my hair," he commands. She obeys.

Her head is spinning. Her grip is tight on Greg's short hair as she feels his skilled fingers send her close to the edge. How did he get so good at this? Perhaps being married has something to do with it, a thought she immediately shakes her head of, but fuck if he isn't damn good at it. It certainly helps that his fingers feel amazing! Warm, nimble and just thick enough. She practically screams when she comes.

"Fuck!" she breathes.

"As you wish," he grins. .

Molly giggles as they kiss again and again, stumbling their way to the bedroom. Toby runs away with a frustrated meow as though to give them some privacy.

"Nice to meet you too," Greg calls back to the brown tabby, making Molly laugh again. He makes a mental note to do so more often. She looks so lovely when she laughs.

Another kiss, then another and then another. Their clothes flop to the ground, leaving a trail to where they stumble and fall onto the bed.

Sex with Greg is very different from sex with Jim or any of her past boyfriends. Jim was more focused on his own pleasure than hers and always fucked her too deep, too hard and too fast. With Greg it's a combination of tenderness and brutality.

He touches her first and makes her come again when he goes down on her. She tries to do the same, but then remembers her abysmal techniques with blowjobs. She gags twice, but Greg doesn't complain like a couple of her past boyfriends did. Instead, he kisses her, rolls her over so he's on top and stimulates her clit while he fucks her deep and hard.

"I'm close," he moans. "You?"

"Yes. Oh god, yes!"

Another kiss, then another and then another. A few kisses and caresses, moans and groans and a few involuntary thrusts later, she comes. He follows three thrusts later with a guttural cry of her name and collapses next to her.

They fall asleep, entangled and drenched in sweat, but at three Molly is roused from her sleep by a parched throat, a beating head and a ringing phone. She struggles through all her pockets until finally finding it buried under Greg's trousers.

Sherlock.

_Damn_.

"Molly Hooper," she answers. "No, I'm not busy. Mm-hmm. Oh, god! When? Yes. Yes, I can make some time. I'll be there in a few. Yeah. Bye."

It's a body in need of looking at and identifying. Of course, it is. What else would Sherlock need her for? At the moment he's the last person she wants to be with, but it's her job. She may not be good at much else, but she's good at her job.

The lamp turns on when she has her knickers back on. _Double damn. _She didn't mean to wake him.

"Molly?" Greg murmurs. "What time is it?"

"About three. Sherlock just called, there's a body in need of identification."

Greg rubs his eyes open and looks at her with a frown. "You're not seriously helping him at three in the morning, are you?"

Molly doesn't respond. Greg sits up with a furrowed brow as he watches her dress. He's about to say something, but whatever it is she doesn't want to hear it. She quickly slips into a pair of jeans and a sweater and doesn't bother with her hair or makeup.

"Molls…"

"Greg, don't," Molly interrupts. "And don't look at me like that."

"I'm not…"

"You should probably get dressed too."

Greg thinks for a moment and then groans, rolling his eyes before he grabs his nearest item of clothing. "Shit," he mutters. "I haven't even packed yet."

Molly furrows her brow. "You're still going to Dorset? After what Sherlock found out about your wife?"

"You're helping Sherlock after what he found out about you."

"It's my job, Greg. There's a difference."

Greg sighs heavily and proceeds to dress himself. "Let me drive you there."

Molly shakes her head. "He'll figure us out. Anyway, I don't think either of us are sober enough to drive."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that. At least let me call a cab. I'm a few blocks past St. Bart's anyway."

Molly smiles weakly and thanks him. When they're dressed and ready, Greg calls for a taxi and offers to pay. The ride to St. Bart's is too long and too quiet and Molly has never been more grateful for work than when the taxi stops. She unbuckles her belt and thanks him for the ride. He stops her by taking her hand before she can leave.

"Molly," he says. "Don't let him get to you, okay?"

She's hesitant. She isn't sure if it's because of what Greg is saying, the way he's looking at her or how warm his hand is on hers, but she finds herself slowly smiling.

"I'll try," she says. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well…about your wife…"

But Greg only shrugs. "I dunno. I'll have to confront her about it soon, but…not now, not at Christmas, especially with Meg around."

Molly nods, understanding. There's another awkward silence before she decides that she really should be going. That body's not going to identify itself. Molly leans forward for a hug, not quite expecting a kiss on the cheek, but she accepts. They exchange their "Merry Christmases" before parting and when Molly leaves and shuts the door, Greg watches her until the door to the hospital is closed and then guides the cab driver home.

Both are left wondering what just happened tonight.


	2. The Second Time

The second time is after the divorce is finalized.

Greg confronts Carol about her affair with Meg's P.E. teacher a good couple of weeks after the holidays are over. The argument is not pleasant and it takes all of his strength not to cry when she finally admits to the affair, which has been going on since October. It's true, she's been unfaithful before, their marriage hasn't been very happy since the miscarriage and they've been trying to work things out for their daughter's sake, but this time Greg decides that he's had enough. He wants a divorce.

Telling Meg about it is the hardest part and it isn't helped by an age like fifteen. Greg remembers–though very vaguely–what being a teenager was like for him and like her he was a bit of a rebel, casually sneaking out to parties and concerts to drink and smoke with friends, but he didn't have to deal with a divorce like she does now. Meg says nothing when her parents announce that they're getting a divorce. She just sits their choking back tears until she can't take it any longer and runs to her room to be alone. She doesn't say a word to either of them for a long time afterwards. She wouldn't even let him hug her when he moved out.

Finalizing the divorce takes a good three months. Carol takes custody of their daughter. Greg moves out and rents a flat closer to work.

The day after the divorce, work in Scotland Yard is slow. Greg is almost thankful for it. With the mood he's in, he's surprised he even made it to work in the first place. Twenty fucking years and it had to end like this. He keeps his door closed and blinds shut so no one will see him crying because of it. As hard as he tries he can't push the thought from his head that all the memories he'd shared with the woman he loved and the future he'd hoped to have is now gone. He remembers meeting Carol in university and knowing immediately that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and now he won't. He won't reach a silver wedding. He won't hold her hand at his or her deathbed. He probably won't even watch Meg graduate or marry without feeling the same hostility that he did in court. Years from now, he'll forgive her, but not forget and it will take a very long time before that happens.

He instantly swallows his tears when he hears a knock on the door.

"It's open," he calls, rummaging through the papers on his desk in an attempt to look busy.

Molly opens the door and holds a file in her hand. "Detective?" she said. "I just came by to deliver the files on the Allen case."

"Ah," he says. "Thank you, Dr. Hooper."

Greg doesn't pay much attention to the details of the case or cause of death. His mind is everywhere at once. Too many thoughts and too many memories will do that to a man, even one like Greg. At some point he appears to zone out for what feels like hours to him until Molly repeats his name a third time.

Greg snaps from his dazed state. "Sorry?"

"I asked if you were okay," Molly says. "You looked a bit…not okay."

Greg straightens and looks through the files again, but swallows heavily. "Yeah," he huffs. "Yes, I'm fine, I…I'm okay."

But Molly doesn't believe him. She knows how it feels to have to hide even the strongest emotions in front of people, friends and colleagues especially. She observes Greg as he pretends to be busy with the files and notices that the ring on his finger is now gone and has left behind a very clear tan-line on his finger.

"Because if you're not," she continues. "Okay, that is. I could always…"

Greg looks up to Molly, but doesn't speak. His professional mask slips a little.

"What I mean to say is that you can talk to me," she says. "If you want."

There's an awkward silence between them. The fact that they've slept together does nothing to ease the tension. Molly stands blushing as Greg stares at her and then into space, as though trying to make sense of things.

"Do you want a coffee?" she asks, breaking the silence.

Greg manages to smile. "Yeah," he says at last. "I'd like that."

Molly leaves the office and comes back with a cup in each hand only to find Greg crying.

"Oh, god," she gasps and rushes towards him. Placing the cups on the shelf, she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

"Twenty years, Molls," he vents. His voice is broken and choked with tears. "Twenty fucking years!"

"I know."

Greg continues to sob and vent about how much he loves and hates his ex-wife all at once. She's silent as she listens to how they met, fell in love, married, had Meg and how their struggles started with the miscarriage of their son three years ago. During that time, Greg sought comfort with friends and Carol with lovers. He'd worked so damn hard to make things work and now it was over.

When he's done venting Molly hugs Greg close and assures him that he'll be all right. If she knows him at all, he will. She knows he will. Greg smiles weakly when she says this and thanks her with a hug, though distracted by her perfume.

"You smell nice," he says.

He hears a light chuckle from her. "Christmas gift from my brother. He's always had crap taste in gifts, but at least this one covers up the smell of formaldehyde."

"I like it."

Greg looks up to Molly with a smile. It's the first time he's smiled all week. When she smiles back he looks to the door and then back at her.

"Shut the door."

He doesn't need to imply anything with that. His tone and expression says it all. A shudder runs through Molly's body, from gut to groin. She's almost uncertain of locking the door, but thinks back to the night after the Christmas party. Reluctantly she turns to the door and locks it with a shaking hand.

Almost instantly she feels his hands on her waist and his breath on her skin.

Over the New Year they had agreed to keep their previous liaison a secret. No one has to know, after all, and it was just one night. One amazing night that still riddles both their dreams.

_Just one night my arse!_

She feels him growing hard against the small of her back as he trails heated kisses down the back of her neck. She takes a moment to enjoy the sensation of his mouth on her skin. Already she feels her arousal pooling between her thighs.

Greg creeps a hand between Molly's legs and watches her lips part and eyes close. He hears her breath quicken and feels her pants soak. He likes that he makes her wet just by touching her. She feels so delicate in his arms that he's almost afraid that he could crush her just by holding her...almost. He moves his fingers to add friction to her clit through the fabric of her pants. He uses his other hand to caress her breast and continues to kiss her neck, making a mental note of the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her moan.

When he's fully hard he turns her around, kisses her hard on the mouth and leads her to his desk.

She fumbles with his tie, shirt and belt when he has her on his desk, quickly opening her blouse and tugging off her pants. He doesn't hesitate to slip inside her.

It's different from last time. There's no tender kiss, caress or word of endearment shared between them, just quick and dirty fucking in his office. Anyone could catch them, but somehow the thought of being caught is exhilarating to them. They try to keep as quiet as possible to keep their colleagues from hearing them, but Greg is desperate for a release and he's fucking her so fast and so hard that he causes the desk to shake. Molly has to bite into his shoulder to keep from screaming when she comes. Greg follows with a suppressed growl in her ear that sends shivers down her spine.

As soon as they catch their breath and can finally use their legs again, they button themselves back up again and Molly's able to put her pants back on. They don't say anything of it until after Greg's shift, where they discus the situation over coffee. They agree that what they have is casual, nothing more and if it happens again they will keep it casual. Truth be told, Molly would be lying if she didn't say that she secretly hopes it turns into more, but she doesn't say it out loud.

Neither does Greg.


	3. The Third Time

The third time is after the Baskerville case.

Divorce is not kind to Greg and, as a result, neither is work. He takes Donovan's advice to let his hair down a little after such a tough time and takes a couple of weeks off to take a holiday in Spain. While he's booking the flight and hotel he asks Molly to come with him, but work needs her more than he does and she doesn't want anyone figuring them out. He respects her wishes, but he'd be lying if he didn't say that he was disappointed to hear them. It'd be nice to spend the holiday with someone else, particularly someone whom he can share the a bed with.

Spain is amazing, but there are too many times at night that he misses her company, her warmth and her body. Every so often he'll dream about her and the way she touches him, but it's her that he wants. He wants to hear her laugh, to see her smile, to feel her warmth, to smell her perfume and to taste her skin. He wants all of her.

Molly misses him too. She won't admit it, but she misses the way he touches her when they fuck and the way his body weight crushes her. She misses the way he looks at her like she's an oil painting. She misses the way he makes her laugh even when she's upset about something. She misses the way she can talk to him without feeling judged or looked down upon.

Greg cannot come home soon enough. He decides this barely three days away from his flight home. So he calls her.

It's about ten-ish in UK time, when Molly is usually at home, so he decides to give her a call and say hello…among other things. He picks up his mobile, dials her number and waits for that electric click after three rings.

"Hello?"

Even through the radio waves her voice puts a smile to his face. "Hello, gorgeous!"

"Greg?"

"The one and only."

"Wow, hi. Um, how's Spain?"

"Hot, but you should see the countryside here. It's like something out of a painting!"

"Wow! Lucky you."

"And what about you, love? What are you doing all on your lonesome in rainy old England when you could be here soaking up the sun with me?"

"Just lounging."

"Lounging?"

"Lounging…wine and a film. It's been _that_ kind of day."

"I see. _Sabrina_ or _Tiffany's_?"

"_Roman Holiday_."

"Of course."

"Shut up, I love Audrey!"

Greg smiled. "I know you do. I think it's adorable that you love her so much!"

"You always think I'm adorable."

"Hmm, not just adorable, darling."

"Oh? What else then?"

Greg can hear the smile in her voice. He closes his eyes and fumbles with his trousers as he begins to visualize Molly's naked body. "Charming," he says, his voice low and slow. "Gorgeous and unbelievably sexy."

Molly doesn't say anything for a moment, but he can hear her sigh and he has this wonderful image of her playing with herself.

"What are you doing right now?" he asks.

"Just lying down."

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Not yet. Are you?"

Greg reaches down and opened his trousers. He starts to stroke the semi in his pants to the point of hardness. Molly's hand is smaller and softer than his, but has a nice tight grip. He shudders just thinking about the last time she touched him. He hears Molly shudder too. It makes him even harder to think of Molly touching herself to the sound of his voice.

"I would love to see you touch yourself," he murmurs.

He hears an unusually sultry laugh on the other line. "Well, you'll have to come then, won't you?"

"Looks like."

"Do you want to watch me play with myself when you get home?"

"Oh god, yes! I want to see you come."

They talk dirty for ages and every now and then, between telling each other, in detail, all the filthy things they want to do to each other, there's a groan coming from the other side of the phone. The illicit gasping, moaning and groaning becomes more frequent until they just stop talking altogether and proceed to masturbate to the thought of each other. The sound of Molly's voice when she's close causes a pleasant stirring in Greg's belly and he comes so hard that he can hear his heartbeat pound throughout the room. He hears Molly come calling out his name less than a minute later.

For a while all that can be heard is the sound of their breath and a pulses trying to catch up with them. Greg can only look at the softening of his cock and the semen staining both his hand and sheets. All that is missing was Molly's warm weight in his arms.

"What is this?" she asks at some point. "This thing we have?"

Greg can only respond with: "I have no fucking idea, but whatever it is I like it."

"Me too."

But after they say goodnight and hang up they're both left thinking long and hard about it. What is this thing between them, anyway? They'd like to say that it's nothing more than casual sex, but the truth is that they like the non-sexy bits just as well as the sexy bits. They like spending time together, talking and getting to know each other even when they aren't naked. Secretly, they'd like to call it romantic, but then they think of how truly ridiculous that sounds.

What would a girl like Molly want with a bloke like Greg?

What would a bloke like Greg want with a girl like Molly?

The Baskerville case is an unexpected turn on Greg's holiday and probably a bit too soon after it's finished, but work is work and as soon as the case is closed all he wants to do is go home and fuck the living daylights out of Molly Hooper. He's missed her too much. It feels odd that he's missed her above all other people, but he can't wait to see her and hold her again.

He decides to surprise her when he comes home, so he goes to her flat, knocks on her door and says: "Hello, gorgeous!"

Greg will never forget the look on her face when she sees him. She doesn't even say anything. She just gasps with wide eyes and an even wider smile and hugs him so tightly that he can barely breathe.

Naturally, it doesn't take long before Molly's back is against the wall and Greg's cock is so hard for her that it almost hurts. By the time they reach the bed it's Greg who's doing most of the work. He'd missed her body so much that he can't help but worship every last inch of it. He touches her, tastes her and fucks her till she's screaming his name at the top of her lungs. By the end of the night, he's lost count of how many times they've fucked and come together.

It's good to be home.


	4. The Fourth Time

The fourth time is after the anniversary.

"Shut up, Mousy, no one cares what you think!"

"Speak up, Mousy, no one can hear you!"

"God, you're so stupid, Mousy!"

"Stop being such a smart-arse, Mousy!"

"You know, Mousy, you'd look a lot better if you didn't eat like a pig."

"Fucking eat something, Mousy, you're nothing but skin and bones."

These are only some of the words that still swim through Molly's head when she thinks of her father. Even as an adult she still hears them.

He called her Mousy all the time because she was so shy, but he never knew that it was because of the way he talked to her that she had such trouble raising her voice. Her brother, Charlie, had a nickname too: Chubby, because he was overweight as a boy and even after he'd lost the weight in his teens, dad would still poke at his stomach and laugh. Her mother was the one who suffered the most from it, though. From what Molly can remember he was always telling mum that she wasn't doing her best or that her best was never good enough. The worst part about it was that he never seemed to think of anything he said as hurtful. He just saw it as his sense of humour.

Don't get her wrong, he was lovely when he wasn't saying such awful things for a laugh and sometimes she did actually love him, but sometimes she hated him too. That was the most confusing part of it to Molly: loving someone that she should hate and hating someone that she should love.

When Molly was fourteen and Charlie seventeen, mum declared that she'd had enough. She took her children one day, ran to her sister's place until she could find her own and filed for divorce.

He died of cancer and despite how awful he was to her and her family he was so nice to them when he was dying. Perhaps he only knew what he'd done to them at last minute and wanted to atone for it. One time, Molly went to the hospital to visit him and when he didn't know she was looking, she saw him looking sad and she thought for a while that it was because he knew that he was going to die, but looking back it might have been remorse for all the things he'd said and done to his wife and children. He died when Molly was seventeen.

Sometimes she still hears him. Even as an adult with her own place, job and money she can still hear him. She hears him when she's made a mistake or a poor decision or judgement. She hears him when she eats too much or too little in front of people. She hears him when she wears too much makeup or when her skirt is too short. Sometimes she hears him in Sherlock's voice. Perhaps that's what she's always seen in him: that sense of familiarity that she grew up with. She knows it doesn't make much sense to anyone else, but it does to her.

She and her brother have had different ways of coping through the years, Charlie with everything from wine to whiskey and Molly with enough therapists to fill an asylum. When she's anxious she'll often calm herself with a cup of herbal tea or distract herself with knitting, but sometimes the best way for her to let go is to sink into a bath so hot that it turns her skin red raw.

Today not even the hottest water can calm her down.

She got a phone call from Charlie the other day about the anniversary of dad's death. Fifteen years. She still can't believe it's been that long and every year she never really knows how to feel. She didn't know what to feel when she visited the gravesite yesterday.

She could confide in a friend, but at the moment Greg seems to be the closest friend she has and he's kind enough to offer room in his flat, as hers doesn't feel quite right at the moment. When she tells him about it he listens intently, which she's unbelievably grateful for. Most people would judge her, question her or try to make sense of things, but Greg does none of those things. He just sits by her side and listens.

"How _do_ you feel, though?" Greg asks. "Really."

Molly sighs, lays down onto the sofa and takes a long sip of chamomile tea as Greg lays a comforting hand on her knee.

"I feel like he's haunting me," she admits. "Like I can't get rid of him."

"I could call an exorcist, if you want me to."

Molly chuckles lightly. Even in a moment like this he can make her laugh. He takes her hand in comfort and takes a long moment to take in everything he's told her. He understands now why she's always seemed so fragile and why everything cuts her so deep. He doesn't know who he wants to punch more: Sherlock or Mr. Hooper?

"Come here," he says and opens his arms to her. Molly smiles weakly and leans into him. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. They stay like that for a long time. They don't say much, save for Greg's soft words of endearment, but Molly prefers it that way. She doesn't know how long he holds her, but it's long enough for the tea to cool in her hands. Even after she puts it down he still holds her as though he's protecting her.

She lifts her gaze up to his to thank him, but kisses him instead. It starts off as a kiss, at least. She moves to sit astride him before deepening the kiss. Already she can feel him swelling in his trousers. Her sensitivity increases when she feels his hot mouth on her neck and his firm hands on her arse.

"Greg."

They rush to strip each other, but don't even bother with all of them. Chances are they'll deal with that later, but for now Molly is content with Greg's open trousers and Greg with her open blouse. He fingers her before entering her, barely able to keep his mouth off her breasts. His eyes burn as he watches her play with herself as she rides him hard and fast.

"God, you are so beautiful!"

She isn't sure if he's saying it because of what she's told him or if he really means it, but she'll take it either way. All she wants is to feel him.

"Fuck me!"

He nods and lifts her up to settle her on the floor, not daring even for a moment to pull out. He's rough with her when they're on the floor and neither one of them shows any sign of mercy. His kisses leave bruises and bite marks on her body. In return, her fingernails dig into his skin and leave long red lines on his back. In the morning they'll both look like they've been attacked by animals.

"Jesus Christ, Molls!"

He fucks her. Deep. Hard. His thrusts become erratic when she feels her muscles clenching around him. She moans. He growls. She makes him bleed. He makes her come.

All it takes is another scratch on his back to make him come hard.

He collapses by her side, but doesn't dare let go of her. They don't bother to get into bed even when their legs do start working again. All they do is lay there on the floor, wrapped in each other's limbs, slick with sweat and sex and panting like dogs in summer. Greg can hear Molly's pulse echoing against the walls. When he's able to use his limbs again he peppers gentle kisses on her body, paying special attention to the marks he left on her.

It astounds Greg how much Molly takes him by surprise. Her ability to function day to day with her head held high after is a kind of strength that he could never have and he can't help but admire that about her. She's almost like the dome of an eggshell in the way she can take so much on such fragile shoulders.

"You're amazing, Molly Hooper."


	5. The Fifth Time

The fifth time is after the funeral.

Greg nearly collapses when he sees it on his way to work. Molly just shuts herself out from everyone. For a whole week no one in London can even go to the pub without hearing about it. It's on every newspaper, every television screen and every mouth.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Molly is silent at the funeral and doesn't cry as much as Greg expects her to. Instead she's quiet. He's sitting right beside her at the ceremony and when he turns to look at her he barely recognizes her. He's so used to seeing a certain light in her eyes even when she's upset about something, but today her eyes are dark. She looks almost exhausted, as though everything that's happened this past week has been so much to bear for her that she's just shut down altogether.

He holds her hand when they're told to pray.

At the reception Molly doesn't say a word to anyone. Greg assumes it's because of how she felt about Sherlock or because losing someone else in her life is just too much for her, but the truth is that she simply hates lying, especially when it's to people that she cares about.

"Are you okay?" It's all he asks of her.

"No," she says. "Not really."

Hugging someone when they cry has always been a natural instinct to Greg, having been to enough family funerals before, but holding Molly in such a vulnerable moment somehow seems to mean a lot to him. He doesn't say anything or hush in her ear to calm her down; he just hugs her tightly to his chest, strokes her hair and lets her cry.

He offers to drive her home, but she claims she can't set foot in her own flat. She doesn't say why and Greg doesn't bother to ask.

"Do you mind if we head to your place instead?"

Greg smiles sadly and nods, so they stop at his flat.

At his flat Greg reflects over a glass of scotch while Molly takes a shower. He thinks about how long he's known Sherlock. It hasn't been long, but he remembers having a thick head of dark brown hair before meeting him. At first he didn't like his smart-arse attitude or the fact that he'd deduced everything about him from his childhood to his marriage, but his skills proved to be of good use and since John entered the picture things seemed to change for the better. He remembers telling John that Sherlock was a great man and that if they were lucky, one day he might even be a good one.

Deep down, way deep down, Greg is actually quite proud of Sherlock. He _was_ a good man.

The water is as hot as Molly can take and she's grateful that the sound of the running water drowns out the sound of her sobs. She lets the water beat at her back and blister her skin until her neck and shoulders are deep red. When before she could tell Greg everything now she can't tell him anything, no matter how badly much she wants to. She wants to scream it at the top of her lungs: "He's not dead! He's not dead! He's not dead!"

It takes an hour for Molly to step out the bathroom door. When she does, she finds Greg on the sofa with a scotch in hand. It's still his first. He's far too deep in thought to drink, but seeing her in his house robe seems to snap him from his thoughts.

"Hey!" he says. "Feel better?"

She nods, but doesn't answer. She cares about him too much to lie to him. His smile is weak when he puts his glass down and goes over to her. He kisses her on the forehead and holds her close. She doesn't make any sound of pain when his embrace stings the burn on her back. He holds her as though she's protecting her from something, which strikes her as ironic, given the circumstances.

She hates this. She hates keeping a secret this big. She hates having to keep it from Greg. She hates having to lie to him. Most of all she hates how much she cares about him.

Molly raises her gaze to Greg's and stands on tiptoe to kiss him hard on the mouth.

She kisses him with more demand than desire. The robe is slipped off almost immediately and he carries her to the bed. The kisses he trails down her body make her writhe under him, already so wet she can feel herself dripping onto the bed sheets and between his fingers. He gets her off twice with his fingers and tongue before he's even taken his trousers off.

When Greg hovers over Molly and finds the reddening of her back, he says nothing. He only looks to her with burning eyes for a long moment before quickly turning her onto her stomach and taking her from behind. She doesn't expect the kisses on her back to be so gentle compared to his thrusts or the strokes on her clit to be so tender. The soft little blows he makes to cool her skin make her shudder almost as much as the dirty things he whispers in her ear.

She bites into the pillow to keep from screaming when she comes.

Even after fucking her, Greg still peppers her back with the softest kisses he's ever given her. It's almost loving in the way he presses his lips on her skin and that's what terrifies her the most.

He doesn't say it out loud, knowing that the funeral of a friend may not be the best time to do so, but Greg is falling in love. He may not be fully in love quite yet, especially since the divorce is still fairly recent and Meg still hasn't forgiven him for leaving, but he is definitely getting there. He remembers feeling something similar in the first night he spent with Carol, but this time is different. This time he knows who he's next to and he wants to know more of her. He wants to end every night of the rest of his life just like this and wake up the same way. He wants to keep her safe and make her happy. He might even marry her if she says yes.

Molly pretends to be asleep until she hears Greg's soft snoring. Slowly and steadily, she keeps as quiet as possible as she creeps out of bed and into her clothes. Before she takes her bag and leaves, she kisses his cheek, which leaves a smile on his face.

She takes a taxi home. When she does it takes her hours of deep thought to conduct the text together. How does she say it without losing him entirely? She values Greg's friendship and while she doesn't know how to say it or in what way to put it, but she does really love him. She's never been able to open up to anyone the way she has with him and she's never known anyone to be that genuinely kind to her.

By the time it's three o'clock in the morning she must have written, edited, deleted and re-written the text a hundred times. It was at first three paragraphs long and then two until she can only sum it up in two sentences. It takes all of her strength to tap the screen of her phone and do it. She's prepared for him to hate her when she does.

_Send._

Greg wakes up at three in the morning to an empty bed and a lit up phone. He knits his brow, confused, but his expression drops with his heart when he picks up his phone and reads the message.

_I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. _

–_MH._


	6. The Sixth Time

The sixth time is after the wedding.

Greg is reminded of the way Molly looked at the Christmas party two years ago and the night they spent together. This time she's dressed in yellow and Greg finds that it suits her better. She certainly looks happier, but Greg isn't sure if it's because of the dress, the wedding or her damn date.

He's forgiven her for the heartbreak after the funeral–two years will do that with people who see each other as often as they do–and he's even willing to forgive her for "moving on," but Greg had decided from the moment he saw him that he could not stand Tom. He may look like Sherlock, which as far as Greg can tell is the only thing that Molly could _ever_ see in him, but Sherlock he most definitely is not. The man has an IQ number lower than his age and a voice that would make nails scratching a chalkboard sound like an aria. The worst part is the fact that he's so incredibly nice. Greg has an irrationally seething hatred for Tom and seeing his hands on Molly's waist makes his skin crawl.

"What is it, then, Molls?" he asks after the wedding. They've been talking for a while, waiting for the reception to start, but of course the conversation leads to Tom. "What do you see in him?"

Greg expects an honest answer, but Molly just smiles, shrugs and says: "I dunno. We just seem to click, I guess."

Greg has been a D.I. for over twenty years now. He knows when someone is lying and Molly is most definitely lying. He listens to her go on about other things, but almost everything goes back to Tom. He's almost entirely pushed out of the conversation when Tom joins in.

Not once does Molly mention her history with Greg.

He remembers why he hates weddings when he sees Molly and Tom having their picture taken. The reception is eventful and Greg spends most of it drinking away his grievances, but after Sherlock's over-extended Best Man speech and the photographer's arrest, things are put at ease. Well, most of them. Greg is still a divorced man in a wedding reception staring at an engaged woman that he's previously slept with. Greg takes another swig of his fourth beer as he watches them dance. At some point, the two turn so that Greg can take a better look at Molly looking at peace as she leans against Tom's shoulder. It helps not to look at Tom's face, but to see Molly at peace is very soothing to Greg.

"She looks lovely, doesn't she?"

Greg looks to his right. Mrs. Hudson sits next to him with her usual warm smile. It's a smile that's always been contagious and Greg can't help but smile in return as he looks back to Molly.

"Yeah, she does, doesn't she?"

"John's awfully lucky."

For a moment Greg's stomach jolts. He clears his throat and agrees, but Mrs. Hudson is no fool. Greg turns his gaze to the bride and groom, but at the corner of his eye he can see Mrs. Hudson reading him like a book. Possibly a habit she's picked up from Sherlock.

"You like her, don't you?" she says. "Molly."

Greg's lip twitches into something resembling a smile. "I might."

"Well, if anything, I'd rather she were with the likes you than that Tom fellow. To be quite honest, I think he's a little prick."

Greg's eyes widen at the older woman's sudden use of language. He may have a foul mouth himself, but Mrs. Hudson is the last person he thought to use such a word.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Gregory," she says. "I know you think the same. In fact, I still remember the way you looked at her at that Christmas party."

Greg smiles as he's momentarily brought back to the night they spent after the mentioned event, but says nothing of it and looks back to Molly.

"Why don't you go and ask her for a dance?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

Greg looks to Mrs. Hudson, then to Molly and then back to Mrs. Hudson again. He smiles at the old woman, takes one last swig of liquid courage and kisses her on the cheek, which is met with a surprised and charmed "Oh my!"

Greg butts in between Molly and Tom, putting on his most charming smile. "Excuse me," he says. "If I may steal the lady for a while?"

Tom nods yes, but all Greg can look at is the way Molly looks when she blushes. With Tom out of the way and out of reach, Greg takes Molly's by the hand and starts to dance, slowly swaying left and right to an old pop love song.

"You look beautiful," he says to her.

Molly giggles. "How many drinks have you had, Greg?"

"Not that many. Why? Doesn't _Tom _ever tell you that?"

"Only when we're having sex."

She says it as though it's a triumph to be having sex, but frankly it's an image that Greg simply does not want. Not the thought of Molly having sex, mind you, but having sex with Tom.

"Sorry," she says, turning even redder than before. "Too much information."

Greg smiles warmly. She always looks so adorable when she blushes. "Not at all," he says. "Although the mental image of Tom naked is a bit frightening."

Greg fakes a shudder, making Molly laugh.

"I love it when you laugh," he says.

It makes him sound like a John Hughes love interest, but he doesn't care. As long as it makes her smile, he doesn't care. Molly's face goes red as Greg leans closer. Close enough to smell her perfume. He almost expects her to push him away when his hand lowers to the small of her back. She just leans into his touch and for a moment it feels like they're the only people in the room.

"You're beautiful, Molly Hooper."

Molly looks up. Her smile has fallen and he's tempted for a moment to kiss her, but the change of pace in the music breaks the moment. He turns to the deejay and feels close to punching him in the face. When he turns back Molly is gone.

Greg looks around and struggles through the dancing crowd and finds the petite brunette in yellow rushing to the door, almost ignoring her fiancé entirely. Greg rushes after her, silently cursing, and marches after Molly, but doesn't see Tom watching him.

Outside the reception, it's dark, cool and peaceful, but Greg follows the sound of dainty footsteps running around the corner.

"Molls?" he calls. "Molly!"

It takes him a while to catch up with her–how a woman of her size is able to run that fast in heels he may never know–but eventually he finds her in the shadows, pacing in the rose garden. She stops when she sees him.

They don't have to stare at each other for long before they're kissing furiously against the wall.

He's wanted to do this all day. He's wanted to do this every day since the last night they spent together. Fantasies are one thing, but flesh…he's almost forgotten how good she feels in his arms. How hard she makes him. How wet he makes her.

Within moments, Molly's legs are weak and she has to hold onto Greg's shirt to keep her balance. He kisses her neck. She grabs his arse. Their hands are all over each other; pinching his arse, cupping her breast, fingers through his hair and his hand up her dress. She's so wet. He's so hard.

"I want you."

Greg doesn't hesitate. Molly unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers and pulls out his cock, frantically stroking him. God, he's missed those hands! She strokes him tightly, indulging in the way he feels and nearly distracting him from ripping open the packet with his teeth and rolling the latex onto his cock. Immediately, he snatches her hand off him, pins her against the wall and easily slips into her. They both groan. It takes a moment before Greg starts to move. He licks his fingers and lowers them to stimulate her clit while he fucks her.

"God, you're so beautiful!" he hisses. "You do know that, don't you? You're so fucking beautiful."

Molly's only response is a quiet moan.

"You feel so good, Molls. You're so warm. You've missed this, haven't you? You miss the way I fuck you."

"God, yes!"

"He's not as big as this, is he? Your boy. Not as good as this."

Molly shakes her head and kisses him. Sex with Tom is very different from with Greg. Tom isn't half as big as Greg and is usually careful and gentle with her whereas Greg is clever and passionate. He knows what she likes and she likes the way he fucks her. She likes the way his body crushes hers. She likes the way his kisses feel like brands on her skin. She likes the way he growls her name like an animal when he's close.

She comes. Hard. Greg follows shortly afterwards. Their legs quiver and they have to prop up against the wall in order to keep their balance. Eventually they catch their breath as Greg softens inside her.

Before he pulls out he kisses her, deeply and slowly. It's so different from all the other kisses they've shared.

"Molly?" he says "Don't marry him."


	7. The Seventh Time

The seventh time is after the breakup.

It's been three weeks since the wedding. John and Mary are likely packing for the trip home from their honeymoon; no one's heard from Sherlock for a while and Molly…well, God knows what she's up to now because Greg certainly doesn't.

Since the wedding she's cut herself off from practically everyone she knows. She won't even talk to Greg when before she could open up to him more than she could anyone. She doesn't even look him in the eye when he sees her at work. When he asks her what's up, she'll always answer with "This isn't a good time," or "I just need time to think." He doesn't blame her. Anyone would need some space and time to think after cheating on their fiancé. He's almost certain that even Carol took the time to think after the first time she cheated on him. Hell, even he took the time to think after he first slept with Molly.

He understands and he doesn't pry, pressure or push her into opening up the way she did before, but three weeks was pushing it.

He thinks a lot about it too when he has the time to. Every now and then he'll be found at the pub staring into his pint of lager in deep thought. Sometimes he'll stare for hours and be pressured by a waitress or bartender to leave for closing time. If he finds another pub open he'll drink there. If not, too bad. He's not usually the type to vent about his love life to strangers at the bar or anyone, for that matter, but now and then he'll find a friendly face in the pub to talk to.

His grievances don't go unnoticed. Sherlock, of course, deduces what happened almost immediately after John and Mary leave for the honeymoon and leaves him to it. He hasn't had one day at work without someone asking him what's up since the wedding. Even Meg notices it the next time he sees her for lunch.

"It's just that you look like I smashed your Depeche Mode record all over again," she says. "It's a woman, isn't it? Or is it a bloke?"

"Woman," he explains. "Her name's Molly Hooper and she works in the morgue at St. Bart's."

Meg nods, but doesn't smile. He knows that the divorce has been hard on her and the idea of her parents seeing other people scares the shit out of her. He's had to bail her out thrice because of it. Greg looks at his daughter and takes her hand.

"Hey," he says. "You're still my girl. You know that, right?"

She nods again. It takes a minute for her to hold her father's hand in return.

After lunch Meg waves goodbye with the closest thing to a smile that she's capable of. Greg waves back and watches her until she disappears into the crowd. He feels like he's watching her walk to her first day of school all over again.

On his way home there's a couple at a café that catches his eye, having coffee and engaging in what looks like a very deep and very emotional conversation. The woman, who turns out to be Molly Hooper, wipes away a tear as the man, whom he's never seen before, holds her hand in a gesture of comfort. For a moment, Greg feels a pang of jealousy, but a closer look stops that feeling when he notices the man's familiar mannerism and profile. When Molly drinks what looks like a kind of herbal tea, the man sitting with her is offered his second serving of an iced mochaccino topped with a cloud of whipped cream and caramel and the biggest and fattest brownie that Greg has ever seen.

_Recovering alcoholics tend to pick up a sweet tooth._

Greg smiles weakly. He doesn't need to be as clever as Sherlock to know who this man is.

It rains the next time he sees her. She's just walked block after block in the pouring rain with a birdcage umbrella just to see him. She knocks on the door and smiles when he opens it.

"Hi," he says, surprised to see her.

"Hello."

There's an awkward silence. No sound but the rain.

"You look well," he says.

"I am."

"Good."

Awkward silence.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course."

He opens the door for her and offers her tea.

"No, thanks. I just wanted to…well, I thought…maybe we could…catch up?"

"Sure."

Another awkward silence.

"How are things?" he asks.

"Good. Things are good. Well, good as they can be anyway."

As she says this, Molly takes off her gloves. Greg half expects a white gleam to shine from her finger, but he finds it bare. There isn't even a tan-line where the ring used to be.

"Oh," he says. "I see."

Molly barely smiles and shows him her left hand. "Yeah," she says. "Turns out some things aren't meant to be, I guess."

"Molly."

Greg steps forwards to hug her as a way of comfort, but she doesn't cry. She's just glad to feel him holding her again. She always did love the way he hugged her. She leans into his shoulder and sighs peacefully when he strokes her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Because it's okay if you're not."

"I'm fine," she says and she means it. "I'm over it. Didn't take me long to."

"When did you split up, if you don't mind me asking?"

"About a week ago. We discussed it over tea and agreed that we just weren't working and that we were better off as friends. Anyway, he was awful in bed."

Greg lightly chuckles as he parts from Molly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, Molls."

"Actually, Tom ended it."

"He did? Why?"

"Because of you."

Greg's eyes widen to hear this. "Me?"

"Yeah. You. Not that he didn't like you, or anything, far from it, he thought you were lovely. But he saw you at the wedding and how close we were and…well, he said that I seemed more comfortable with you than with him and that I didn't seem to love him as much as I said or as much as he loved me, so he ended it."

"Huh."

Perhaps Tom wasn't half the idiot Greg thought him to be.

"Wow, I, uh…I'm sorry."

But Molly squints with a sardonic smile that reminds him of Meg when she's suspicious of something. "You're not really, are you?"

Greg thinks for a moment and shakes his head. They both laugh. He never did like Tom and seeing Molly as free as the wind is probably the best thing that's happened all month.

"It's okay, Greg, I know you've never liked him."

"Well…"

"Greg?"

Greg takes a deep breath and finally agrees to let it out: "I couldn't stand the fucker, Molls! I mean, honestly, _meat dagger?_ What the hell did you see in him? The man had the wit and intelligence of a cheese sandwich and was just as compelling!"

Molly laughs heartily as Greg continues his rant on her ex's intelligence (or lack thereof, according to Greg), tastelessness, tedium and whatever other flaw he can think of. Eventually, Molly stops laughing, but Greg continues to rant until Molly stops his mouth with a kiss. It takes him by surprise, but he responds. It's a more playful kiss than all the others they've shared. Their arms wrap around each other as tightly as ropes. His forehead stays on hers when they part with wide and warm smiles.

"Better?"

He nods. "Better."

He kisses her again and again until her fingers are in his hair.

"Greg," she says. "As silly as Tom could be sometimes, I think he was right about something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I _didn't_ love him the way I said I did and I _was_ more comfortable with you than I was with him. I was on that amazing night after the wedding and I was those other times and…I don't want us to be friends with benefits, Greg. I want _you_."

Hearing all this, Greg thinks he must look like a complete idiot with the way he grins from ear to ear, but for the moment he doesn't care.

"Maybe we could…start over? From the top?"

He nods, beaming. "I'd like that."

Greg kisses Molly deeply. So deeply it makes them both weak. Her tongue plunges through his lips and invades his mouth and makes him grunt. His body presses closer against hers and makes her gasp when she finds that he's just as hard as she is wet.

"Well," she says. "We don't have to start from the _very_ top."

Greg chuckles again and agrees. They snog and grope their way into the bedroom and leave a trail of clothes behind them.

When they fall back on the bed, naked and writhing, it's different from the other times. Greg is tender with Molly and doesn't care to pleasure himself as well as he does to pleasure her, even when she touches him and sucks him off. He wants to please her and he does. He obeys her every command and asks for nothing in return. He kisses her, touches her, tastes her and makes her come several times. It hits him when he's close:

"I love you, Molly."

When he comes he leaves a trail of messy kisses from her lips to her neck and collapses next to her. When she has her breath back she moves to rest in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. She places a playful kiss to his chest.

"I love you too."

Greg smiles and kisses the top of her head.

"So," he says. "About this whole 'starting over' thing…what are you doing this Saturday?"


	8. The First Date

The first date is before Moriarty's return.

It's been ten years since Greg has been out on a proper date. The last date he had was with Carol, but he shakes his head of the thought. _That was ages ago,_ he reminds himself. _It's time to move on._

However, he never remembers making such a fuss over what to wear on a date, let alone any other kind of event, seeing as he never goes anywhere else but the pub nowadays. Still, he's spent the last three hours trying to figure out what the hell he's going to wear. So far, he's gone through half his wardrobe: black, white, cotton, leather, gentleman, hermit, pirate and where the hell did he get a Hawaiian t-shirt? He even tries on sunglasses for some fucking reason. In the end he settles for simple, dabs on a little cologne, grabs his jacket and heads out the door.

_Here goes nothing._

Molly can't remember the last time she's felt this nervous. She must have tried on seven dresses before deciding on what shade of lipstick to wear. She settles for a floral pink dress with matching lipstick that she actually struggles with because of the violent trembling in her hands. She's barely even able to clasp her necklace, she's shaking so much.

The doorbell makes her jump. He's early. Too early. Fuck. She hasn't even got her hair sorted out.

_You've slept with this man, Molly, _she tells herself._ You've slept with him seven times. What harm is one date going to do you?_

"Coming!" she calls and ties her hair back into a quick ponytail, grabs her purse and heads to the door. She takes a deep breath before opening the door.

Her tremors stop when she sees him.

"Hi."

"Hello."

He greets her with a kiss. "Ready?"

She nods and takes the hand that he offers.

"You look beautiful," he tells her on the way.

"Thank you," she blushes. "You too. Nice, I mean. You look nice."

They catch up on their way to the restaurant. It's an Italian place that Sherlock recommended. They won't always take Sherlock's word for anything outside of a case, but the man knows his food. Over a shared bottle of wine, a starter of bruschetta, a main of seafood risotto and vegetarian lasagna and a dessert of sorbet, they discuss work, talk about their favourite books and movies, share stories and jokes and play footsie under the table.

They'll definitely sleep together tonight and in the morning Greg will make her the best breakfast she'll ever have in her life and they'll do it again several times. In a few months time Greg will ask Molly to move in with her. She'll say yes and they'll celebrate by conceiving their first child, Michael. John and Mary will be his godparents and their daughter Imogen will grow up to be his best friend and life-long girlfriend. A good year after that Greg will make Molly a magnificent dinner in front of the fireplace and ask her to marry him. She'll say yes immediately and nearly suffocate him with the tightest embrace. Their marriage will take place in summer the next year with Mary as Maid of Honour and Sherlock as Best Man and this time he will actually remember Greg's name, but only because he'll have the speech written down. Their honeymoon will be in Greece, where their daughter, Anna, will be conceived. Michael will grow up to be a pathologist like his mum, Imogen a doctor like her dad and they'll marry into their early twenties. Anna will be a detective inspector like her dad and never marry.

Greg won't mind when Carol eventually marries again. If anything, he'll be happy for her and worried for the groom. Charlie will relapse a couple of times and Meg will find her own ways to self-destruct, but they'll both survive. They'll meet in rehab and form a strong enough friendship to help each other through the best and worst of times. John and Mary will live happily until the crash two weeks shy of Imogen's fourteenth birthday. As for Sherlock, who knows?

But for now, London is flooded with the image of a familiar face and one question on repeat:

_Did you miss me?_


End file.
